


smoke and mirrors

by Effei



Category: Shatter Me Series - Tahereh Mafi
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, F/M, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Seduction to the Dark Side, dark!juliette, sociopath!warner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27565114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Effei/pseuds/Effei
Summary: It's better for her to force him on his knees, to have him crawling, to have him choking on his own guilt and malice.(about not so easily forgiving juliette, and not so soft and lovable warner)
Relationships: Adam Kent & James Kent, Juliette Ferrars/Aaron Warner, Juliette Ferrars/Adam Kent
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> timeline: unravel me, when juliette walks in to interogate warner for the first time.

“We're all curious about what might hurt us.”

  
** Federico García Lorca**

**I**

_It's better for her to hate him._

With burning passion, badly, so that she could rip out his heart with spiteful words alone. So that she could trample him with scornful looks. Make it impossible for him to speak, by using slightest gesture of her own hand.

_It's better for her to despise him._

To disdain even the thought of being near him (in the same building; in the same room). To believe that the air he breathes is poisoned. To see him as nothing of significance (he's just like dirt on her boots: frustrating, but manageable, inconvenience, something easily ditched, preferably as soon as possible; he's nothing to remember).

_It's better for her to be afraid of him._

To watch him cautiously. To show that for her he's still nothing more than a monster, who can only sow death around. To reach out for the gun the second he would try to make even slightest movement.

It would hurt him.

She **knows** it would hurt him; it would hurt him more that any broken bone, or needle, or beating, or hunger, or sleep deprivation. It would broke him (for the very last time).

Her contempt, fear and anger, like a bullet, straight into his very heart.

It's better for her to force him on his knees, to have him crawling, to have him choking on his own guilt and malice.

Everything else would be easy.

She has **plan A**.

(step one: throw in a few poisonous phrases instead of 'hello', or 'how are you', or 'I was worried';

step two: look at him contemptuously;

step three: ask a few question;

step four: get expected negative answers (or silence, he could play mute);

step five (optional): shoot him in the knee;

/just like his father, because she:

a) has a weapon with her;

b) is an excellent sharpshooter;

c) has no problems with violence;/

step six: go away and leave him to the rats;

step seven: repeat everything again)

She has **plan B.**

(step one: tell him "you'll never see me again";

step two: walk out of the cell;

step three: wait for him to break, and beg, and scream, and tell her everything she needs)

There's no plan C, but there's no need (she has enough bullets, she likes plan A).

She (almost) feels like she's bulletproof.

So she walks; she walks and feels cold glances and mean whispers (rumors-rumors-rumos turn out to be the prettiest truth).

Everyone seems to know that she is, _indeed_ , a monster. Everyone seems to know how good it felt to tore Anderson to pieces (or when she almost destroyed their home, or when she killed that little child). Everyone knows, but they're too afraid to speak while she's around (they're all afraid she might kill them too).

So Castle offers her a mission (he thinks that they _( **him** and **her** )_ will speak in the same monster tongue and find consensus). So Castle offers her a chance for redemption (promises salvation and new life, with the people that would care for her deeply). So Castle offers her so many things in so few words (she was never taught to read the fine print).

So she walks.

**II**

She can handle Warner ~~(she can't)~~ , but she has no weapon against her own diary.

He quotes words, lines, full paragraphs from memory (it feels like he rips off her skin mercilessly). She stands there, frozen, while all clocks stop count, while planet starts to spin in the wrong way, while all her world turns upside down. She stands there, horrified, because everything goes wrong, because he wins without playing, because he defeats her with words, silly little words, written by silly little girl. She must press on his wounds, open him from the inside, gut him with rusty tools, like a fish, so that he does not have the strength to lie. _She must, but she can't._ Instead, her legs give way. He takes away all air, because he talks-talks-talks about her running away, about him wanting to kill people who hurt her.

"I will find them, they will die for days, they will pray for everything to stop. Just tell me who they are. Names, Juliette, I only need their names…"

_Prove that you're a monster, Juliette, like me. Come on. I know you want it. I saw your eyes when you tortured my father, they were sparking with such **joy**. _

She makes a few steps back, stays against the wall, afraid to breathe too loud. She stays and tries to chase away every bad thought, every bad memory; afraid that he might get inside of her head, like a worm inside of an apple, and eat her up, until there's nothing but rotten flash and bare white bones; afraid that maybe not tomorrow, but in a month, in a year, in a decade, he'll find them. Eventually. One by one. And he'll do what he’d promised.

_(they'll be there, one day, in headlines of local newspapers and newscasts (news anchors will comment on tragic turn of events; journalists will quote grieving family members/relatives/friends/acquaintances); stories will be made and stories will be forgotten, left to collect dust in evidence storage of the police department, right next to boxes with another unsolved cases;_

_they'll be there with her, her own ghosts, her burden, her company for many sleepless night;_

_they'll be there, those dead rats on a porch, left by a stray cat; his little presents, his bloody displays of affection)_

"Just tell me names, Juliette."

When he says such terrible things (even if those people deserve it), the image of boy who played with dog and smiled and looked peaceful and happy easily dissolves into other memories of him (the dark ones, disturbing).

But right words, that sting and hurt, aren't inside of her mouth. She swallows them, like hard candies, makes room for fear and silence between her teeth.

"Juliette?" He rushes forward and stops so close-close-close, his eyes full of anger, his gentle hands, his soft voice (just like she remembers). There's no tenderness in her, only fear, so much fear (of him, of herself, of what happens when they're around each other).

It was a bad idea, poor choice, regrettable decision, unfair agreement.

He knows too much; he _understands_ too much. She needs to get back to safety (to Adam). She needs to talk to him, and tell him the truth, tell him everything that have happened (so Adam would break Castle's neck next time he'll try to talk her into something this dangerous).

"Let go of me."

Anger turns into confusion, confusion into irritation, irritation into disappointment, disappointment into anger ( **again** ). His emotions take over one another like ocean waves.

“I'm not going to hurt you. Please, don't be afraid." He makes two steps back (enough for him reach out, enough for her to breath). "I would never hurt you, Juliette, trust me."

She turns away (from him and his offer) and hits the iron door with all her strength (so hard that metal scraps stick like splinters under the fingernails). Five seconds later, she's in the hallway (almost safe). She looks over her shoulder long enough to see regret in his eyes, and anger, and how he tries to restrain himself from begging her to stay.

And then the door slams shut.

Demons left in. She stays out.

"Is everything okay?"

His guard. Faceless. Nameless. Concerned.

"Yes.“

A few more rounds and she’ll become a professional liar.

**III**

He's necessary evil.

Their meeting (her failing interrogations) are necessary evil.

So she walks in and out. Day after day. So she talks to him, to Castle, to Kenji (but not to Adam). Hour after hour. So she does her job, her mission.

Castle has a better name for it, more poetic, more exalted. He says that it's her calling (because he's in love with her, because this is an ideal situation, because she's so good at it, because nobody could've done it better).

Her friends ( _she has friends now, a few of them, actually_ ) are in trouble and the sooner she'll get it done, the better it'll be for her (and for her friends, and for Castle, and for Omega Point, for the whole wide world).

(Castle walks around happy and lighthearted. Castle says that operation was successful. Castle says that Warned didn't lie. Brendan and Winston give her a big hug. Everyone’s watching and clapping and talking in whispers. They look at her differently. With warmth; such warmth that could melt ice on mountains’ tops.

Their gratefulness suffocates her more than their hands.)

Workouts, where she bends pipes (pretending that those are his hands), crumbles bricks into powder (thinking that those might be his insides) don't help her much. She cannot glue his mouth (Castle still needs him to speak, he always needs a little more data, names, places, codes; there's always more questions, more tests, more emergencies). So she walks in and gets data, and intel, and quotes from the diary (lots of them, he knows every page, even if she forgot when she even wrote them, he's always happy to remind her). He drowns her in her own past, tells that in another lifetime she would be very successful children's writer (she listens about yellow fields of dandelions and agrees with him).

He takes and gives: lets her learn the worst about himself. His murders weigh her down, like a tight rope on a neck. He doesn't make excuses, when he says that there were more than fifty of them (she feels horrified and relieved by his honesty). He says that it started early, he was a kid (and it was a gun, it’s almost always a gun, he doesn’t like to get his hands bloody). He says that he remembers all of them. That he will always keep them inside of his memory (their names and faces). As a reminders (but not as trophies).

"I did what was necessary. What I should've done to survive."

She nods.

Later, she lays in her bed, awake, in the middle of the night, and realizes that she can't remember little boy's face.

He takes and gives: she touches those horrifying scars on his back. Gently. He sits still, tight like a string, and tells her about gifts, that weren't put in boxes and wrapped in bright ribbons. She thinks that **this** _explains_ a lot.

“I trust you, Juliette. You can trust me."

“I won't."

"What more do you need?"

Anger-frustration-helplesness.

_Wave after wave._


	2. Chapter 2

“I used to advertise my loyalty and I don't believe there is a single person I loved that I didn't eventually betray.”

**Albert Camus**

Some days, when she feels tired and irritated and tearful and worried and deprived and spiteful and bored, Castle asks her (again and again and again, the list of polite demands has no end), and she gets up and walks-walks-walks and walks a little more, and talks with _him_ about sin and tattoos and books and ex-MI-6 agents and heads of parliaments and bills, and goes back to Castle, and talks with him and others about bills and MI-6 and parliament’s high-ups, and gets her daily dose of praise, and eats, and talks with her friends ( _because she has friend_ _s_ _n_ _ow, a few of them, actually_ ) and goes to sleep, and lays in bed in silence, and feels out of control, feels like a prisoner, like a rat in never-ending labyrinth.

She lives there, underground, in a manmade cave, like a burrowing owl; always surrounded by people: their conversations, their dreams, their hopes, their connections, their fears run through her like wires. She learns from them step by step (how to smile, how to talk, how to build relationships, how to make jokes and friends); she learns from them just like she learned from countless books on countless shelves of countless facilities (some things never change). Her new surroundings are pristine and well-cut and simple in understanding (there’s no gray areas, only black or white, only good or bad, only right or wrong; Castle manages to paint it all beautifully; in simple strokes, in few lines, in few colors; he manages to make her work look indispensable and vital; he manages to make her feel important and wanted).

She gets what she always dreamed of (a purpose; a fresh start; a chance to change something in this world, to be someone) and finds herself lost in normal environment, unable to fully adapt, unable to react the right way, unable to fit properly.

She gets what she’s always wanted (real human bonds; a bunch of friends; people who care for her deeply) and finds herself left out of a simple ‘right and wrong’ scheme; at the end of the day, she’s the one who does monstrous things for the greater good and for the bright future ahead. Things no one else can do (because it’s her metier).

She’s, once again, behind the glass, watching and learning, _**mimick**_ _ **ing**_.

She tries to do the right thing but it tastes like rotten apple in her mouth. So she makes an effort to take another bite. And another. And ten more. Until it finally feels right.

“ _Since when you let others use you so willingly?”_

“ _We all do what we have to survive, aren’t we?”_

‘To survive’ is not the right answer to give. There’s nothing noble or righteous or upright in survival. It’s basic and bare-bone and carnal. It’s something familiar and casual, something understandable, something to bond over (like abusive childhood, and cruel parents, and vicious desire to hurt everyone). She doesn’t have to tell more or explain or deny. He knows (somehow he always knows). That wrong part of her sticks out like a broken bone (perfectly visible for his sharp eyes), that tiny mistake that gives her away (to him, but not to the others).

They’re both rats in the never-ending labyrinth. Rats who look for a way out.

**V**

There’s a bearer of bad news who bursts into the meeting room (it’s her third-time talk about the new operation, she repeats her words and lets others do the hard work of creating backup plans and counting all risks and predicting possible casualties). He (his name is Billy) says that there’s a problem, and a serious one, and Castle should intervene before anyone gets hurt.

She thinks ‘ _finally, finally_ _you’ve_ _snapped’._

She thinks _‘the whole month,_ _huh,_ _you’_ _ve_ _lasted longer than I thought_ _you would_ _’_.

She thinks _‘it’s almost over,_ _no need to struggle, just get out of my life_ _’_.

She feels awake and alert, absorbs every little possibility of a new future like a sponge. Her loop breaks under the weight of circumstances, and new existence shapes itself inside of her head in a matter of seconds.

But than Billy says the wrong name.

He says that it’s Adam, who causes all those troubles. It’s Adam who shouts and threatens to kill and hurt people around him. It’s Adam who has _already_ hurt him (Billy) and his friend (named Jack). And that he can hurt others, if they don’t stop him.

Billy says “He’s completely lost his mind, sir! We need to do something!”.

She thinks that this has to be a mistake, maybe the same name, but other person. Maybe someone new. Someone troubled and distressed. Someone who sleepwalks or suffers from PTSD. Someone who can’t differentiate between the real threat and imagined.

Because the last time she saw him, Adam, her Adam, was fine.

He was fine. He was fine.

He. Was. Fine.

(she hasn’t talked to him in four very long weeks)

She repeats those words (it’s not him, he’s fine/it’s not him, he’s fine/it’s not him, he’s fine) the whole time she walks behind Castle, their route familiar, her legs accustomed to those corridors and steps and concrete walls and cold floors.

“Then tell me who has the key, or I’ll break your arm.”

She sees him (hovering over like a bird of pray) and stumbles over her own feet. Castle doesn’t, he walks fast and confident (and annoyed by another wrangle under his roof).

“Mr. Kent, get away from Jack, right now!”

His voice is loud and clear in empty space of corridor. _Commanding_. And Adam turns around, not to obey Castle but to attack him (like a bull seeing red). He seems not to notice her at all, anger blinds him of anything but his target (she can’t blame him; she knows that feeling too well).

“Why the fuck you let him out?! Why the fuck he walks around and scares little kids?!”

James. She exhales, of course it has something to do with James. Is he safe? Is he alright? _H_ e would never…

 _Won’t he?_ _He_ _did_ _it before._

Adam’s fists clench into blue blazer. He pins Castle against the wall with ease (just like she pined Kenji the other day). He yells at him and curses and throws accusations around (just like she did the other day). He’s one step away from murder (just like she was the other day).

“He asked for sanctuary, Mr. Kent. He’s one of us now. I can’t just keep him locked up like an animal, you know that.”

“He was near my kid”, his voice it rough, anger barely restrained on his vocal cords, “he talked to him, and now James thinks that there’s a target on my back! That I’m gonna die! That they’ll come after him too, because his brother was a traitor!”

“Please, let me go and we’ll talk about it in a polite manner. I’m sure there was some misunderstanding.”

She stays still. Those words make no sense at first (why would he risk so much?). But then it clicks (like a safety switch on a gun).

_He knew it’s gonna happen._

_He knew James was (and still is) Adam’s weak point._

_He_ _**wanted** _ _it to happen._

“Mr. Kent, let me go.”

Castle tries to talk his way out. And she sees it, in his eyes: fear. Because Adam shuts down everything around him, swallows every drop of power like a black hole (his gift feels like frostbites at the tips of her fingers). Because Adam can break Castle’s neck (he knows how, he’s done it before), and Castle won’t be able to stop him.

But Castle (or his sudden death) is not the real problem; the real problem is behind that door, waits for Adam there (eagerly, patiently; _this_ is just another reminder that he’s truly unable of forgiveness). She finds herself surprised by her own negligence, by the way she failed to remember from **what** she saved Adam that day at the slaughter house.

In her epiphany one simple truth remains: she can’t let Adam go through that door. The second it opens – he’s dead man.

So she makes one step forward.

“Adam?”

“What?!”

“Adam, please, look at me.”

He does; he still listens to her (she still matters to him).

(she remembers that they’ve spend _years_ without talking, and still had been able to find their way back to each other; they can do it again; one more time)

She watches him carefully with eyes wide open: his bloody knuckles and sleep depraved eyes full of anger (two perfect mirrors of her own) still familiar. She thinks about that one time, when she was ready to destroy everything, because she saw him hurt. Did she look like this? Does he feel what she felt? This blinding rage inside, painful like a branding iron; all-consuming need to rip earth to shreds, because you failed to protect the only person you love.

“Is James alright?”

It seems to wake him up (Adam shuns away from her hands, as if they burned him).

“No, he’s not, he’s terrified, Juliette. He’s ten year old kid, who now thinks that he’s gonna die a horrible death! All because a bunch of fucking idiots think that a serial killer changed sides and now he’s gonna be a better man who cares about injustice or world piece!”

She wants to say that he’s right, that Castle has no idea who he’s dealing with, and maybe one day it’s gonna be his downfall. She wants to say him so much, they need to talk about so many things, but there’s no time and no right place for it (will there ever be?).

“He crossed the line, Juliette. I’ve said nothing when Castle started to push this “reform the lost soul” bullshit down your throat, because I trust your judgment. I know you can tell right from wrong. But this is the last straw for me. I won’t leave until he’s dead.”

She never saw his like this. Tall and grim and exhausted. Pushed over the edge. Lost.

She never though he had it in him. Determination to destroy, to obliterate. Capacity for real violence.

But then she looks into his eyes and remembers who his father is. And his childhood, and all those school years sugarcoated in silence and suffering. All those years when he found a way to look after not only himself but also her, when he was near, within reach but never too close.

It’s her turn to play guardian angel, her turn to protect.

“I know you won’t.”

_She’s still stronger than him._

She does the right thing.

_She lets her powers run wild._

She saves his life.

When Adam falls on the floor, wretched and aghast; when seizures feast on every muscle in his body, she sinks near him on a concrete floor (eyes full of tears and regret; pleaseforgivemepleaseforgivemeforgivemeforgiveme…), and stays there few more moments, before his eyes close. Ten seconds feel like an eternity (surfaced feelings still strong and monstrous, but it’s the first time there’s no pleasure inside of her chest).

 _It seems no matter how hard she tries to_ _keep_ _him_ _safe_ _, she always ends up hurting him even more._

“What have you done, Ms. Ferrars? What have you done?!”

She looses her grip, wipes off tears, gets up (finds her ground, finds her voice).

“Get the girls. They’ll help him. I need to find James.”

**VI**

She starts to make her own plans (it’s interesting feeling that blooms inside of her chest; this drive to go and plan and act and talk and think-think-think three-five-ten steps ahead).

She makes a few requests, a few demands, a few favors (nothing impossible but requiring considerable time and effort; nothing completely unethical but still in a gray area of morality).

Girls keep Adam in medical wind unconscious for as long as possible, for as long as needed. They heal him day by day, but never enough for him to recover completely. They lie to Castle and James and Kenji that it’s because of his own powers. She asks them to that day after dinner, right before lights go off. She asks politely, she says please, she says that it’s for his own sake, to keep him out of harm’s way and they say yes, because they (are her friends) know, what will happen if they deny it to her (nothing good).

She spends her free time with James.

She found him in their room: his eyes red, face puffy and salty from all of the tears he shed. She hugged him and made a promise: nothing bad is gonna happen to Adam, because she’ll kill anyone who’d try to hurt him. James believed her without a second of doubt and everything went back to its roots. One more problem was solved.

Now James rushes to her every chance he can get, even if only for a few minutes. He talks to her about his day and follows her around like a little puppy. They do many things together: they eat, they paint, they play and they sit besides Adam’s bed every evening. She reads him (them both actually) Dr. Seuss’s collection: “The Cat in the Hat”, “One Fish Two Fish”, “Fox in Socks”, and his favorite: “Green Eggs and Ham”. She rereads them in different order every evening, like the bedtime stories. And then girls remind them that it’s time, so she puts him to bed and wishes him good night and sweet dreams.

(she keeps in mind that he’s a little kid and he needs his family, he needs Adam albeit right now he only has her; despite the worst reputation she can be good with children)

She stops seeing _him_. It’s the hardest part. It comes with bargaining and scandals and scornful looks and long explanations.

She listens how Castle talks-talks-talks about how appalled he is by her actions, by her reckless behavior, by her downright cruelty. He reminds her that she hurt Adam on purpose (as if she can forget that) and it’s unacceptable within Omega-Point’s walls. And that she’ll be stripped away from all of the privileges she has (as if it’s matter even a little bit).

_You’re a very bad girl, Juliette, you need to be punished._

“Lock him up. Whatever you’ve promised him, take it back, remove his accesses and key card. He’s not going outside that room.”

He’s taken aback by those demands and indifference in her voice. She’s supposed to be a walking compassion and guilt, she’s none.

“Did you even listen to what I just said, Ms. Ferrars?”

She listened carefully and understood that Castle won’t ask her the right question. So she does it for him.

“Do you know why Adam is still alive?”

“He’s barely alive, Mr. Ferrars! All thanks to you and your...”

“I’ve saved him from being tortured to death on the slaughter house.” It’s that little unpleasant detail hidden between the lines. Capacity for violence runs not only through her veins (she’s been born with it, but he was taught it from the very young age and he mastered it perfectly). “And I did it again, just an hour ago. I know _him_ better than anyone else here; I know it’s personal, he sees Adam at a threat, he won’t stop.”

“You can’t know that for sure. It ssems to me that you don't want to understand how can the person change, you don't want to give him a second chance. I'm so dissapointed, Ms Ferrars. I thought you knew this better than anyone. And I’m sure that he just choose his words poorly and it scared James.”

_But he always knows what to say and how to say it._

“Are you willing to bet a kid’s life on it?”

Her stubbornness makes him tense.

“You can ask him yourself, he seems to enjoy telling you the truth.”

She already knows the truth, she doesn’t need to go and double-check it.

“I won’t talk to him, not until Adam and James are safe.” She becomes **difficult** and ungrateful and uncooperative. In a matter of one short dialogue she becomes Castle’s great disappointment. “You can try to do it without me but we both know he won’t tell you a single word.”

It’s the last ace up her sleeve; that’s how she wins.

She puts her cup down, her hands don’t tremble. Castle’s do. It’s good that there’s no real way to force her into doing things (he knows it, he tried before and failed). Her fall from grace comes with gaining complete autonomy from others.

“You can tell him that I was the one who ordered it.”

The coffee in her cup is cold and bitter. Just like her last words in her mouth, just like the smile on her lips.


End file.
